Pope Francis's recent encyclical made headlines because of climate change, but his teachings are much broader concerning human responsibility to care for life on the planet. Good for him! It is time to bring the moral resources of all our traditions to this issue.

Purim is a great drama. It is also a symbol of what our world can be when we abolish the disunity between us. As then, so now, it has to start from the Jews. "Love your neighbor as yourself" was given to us first.

In the face of the fragility of life and mighty forces of hatred and fear, many will lapse into denial or despair, making decisions from a place of spiritual defeat. This is not what our tradition asks of us. We are called to fully acknowledge the reality of evil, and lovingly perpetuate life in spite of it.

Jewish wisdom reminds us that knowledge is not significant if it doesn't engage, mobilize, and connect. Disinterested information doesn't constitute wisdom until it can inspire awe, deepen comprehension, and inspire transformation.

For many Christians--especially for conservative evangelicals--Paul's writings form the core teachings of their churches, from settling church squabbles to the centrality of the death and resurrection of Christ.

Dr. Ezekiel Emanuel, the well-known bioethicist and brother of the mayor of my town, argued recently in an essay in the Atlantic Monthly that 75 is the perfect age to die. After that, he said, most people have little to contribute to society and are a burden rather than a benefit. I can think of few less-Jewish ideas than this. It is not only heartless but wrong.

On Friday Jews around the world will confess their sins. One of the central prayers of the Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement) worship service is Ashamnu, which means "We have sinned." The prayer consists of 24 lines describing sins we have committed.

This is a deeply religious and spiritual book, well grounded in both theory and practice, and deeply rooted in Judaism as well as other contemporary religious thinkers, such as Rev. Martin Luther King, Gandhi and others.

For an increasing number of Americans, even these holidays have eroded into family gatherings that no longer connect strongly to the spiritual meaning that they have in the religious cultures in which they developed.

For more than a week, we continue to celebrate one holiday after another, each with its own set of rituals, songs, and customs. Exhausted by the holy days already behind us, and living in a culture that distrusts ritual in the first place, what can this frenetic activity mean to us?

Tashlik, the casting away of regrets, is by far our favorite new year tradition. It surpasses the big meal and the white clothes, the honey cake and the days off from school. I wouldn't have it any other way. Here's why.

This month Jews around the world are preparing for the most sacred days of the year. It is a month devoted traditionally to reflection and self-examination.Asking the following questions, first prosed 2,000 years ago, give us a way to start.

We must make the compromises needed to ensure that we can laugh and cry together. I mean this literally and figuratively: we must become comfortable enough in each other's worlds to attend each other's funerals and weddings.

One wonders how the specious claims of the no-control gun advocates -- so filled with uncertainty and conjecture -- stands against the certainty of any human lives being saved. If this is a clash of simple values, then I choose life.

Our tradition values peace above all things, and yet, were it not for the willingness to take arms and fight in 1944, there would have been no way to thwart the Nazis and most likely no Israel to defend in 1967. How can we understand such moments?

Most of us consider G-d a four letter word. Something to be avoided at all costs, lest we be associated with the crazies and the terrorists and the preachers. When I started my journey into becoming a religious Jew, I figured this was finally going to change. It didn't.